An Orphan in the Snow

by Molly Green

  She tried to clear her head. Couldn’t understand. What was he saying? She couldn’t have heard him properly. He loved her. He’d just told her so.

  ‘You’re a darling girl and you deserve someone to love you with no holds barred.’

  He didn’t love her after all. He was letting her go. No warning, no nothing.

  Her bottom lip quivered and she put her hand to her mouth to stop it. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he’d said.

  ‘But—’ She couldn’t speak.

  ‘I should have made it clear sooner. I was very wrong not to. Maybe I didn’t know myself.’ Murray took his hand away and it was as though he’d dealt her a blow.

  How she wanted to rerun the last five minutes. Have him tell her he’d fallen in love with her and ask would she do him the honour of becoming his wife. She didn’t dare look at him because if she did she’d break down. He loved her only as a friend and if he had an inkling that she felt differently, he’d be terribly upset that he’d hurt her. No, he mustn’t see her face crumple. Her brain took in his words, and her heart mocked her for being so foolish. Her insides racked in turmoil. She pulled in her stomach and tried to take in a strong breath to keep from throwing herself at his feet, begging him to love her as she loved him.

  She willed the tears not to fall and swallowed, wondering if the lump in her throat would ever go away.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything more,’ she said, her voice low and flat.

  Please don’t say anything more.

  ‘Can we still be friends?’

  She raised her eyes to him, not knowing, not caring if he saw the tears gather.

  ‘Of course we’re friends,’ she managed to answer.

  Murray leaned towards her and grasped her hand again. His eyes were bright and if she wasn’t mistaken, they looked moist, almost with regret.

  ‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘I would have hated it if you’d begun to get serious about me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

  June took up her glass of wine, still half-full. She tipped it back and gulped it down as though she were in a desert gasping for the last glass of water. Her insides were collapsing and she felt the heat of embarrassment pulsing through her whole body. He must never know the truth. She looked at her watch, more for something to do, trying to think of an excuse to get away before she broke down completely.

  ‘I should get back. They’re short-staffed at the moment. It was a bad time for me to leave. And I know you’re busy too.’ She knew she was gabbling.

  ‘What about the Bette Davis film we were going to? You wanted to see it and I invited you. I’ll feel bad if we don’t go – and there’s still time even to see the early show if we hurry.’

  No, it was a comedy and she didn’t feel like laughing.

  She rose to her feet. ‘Let’s plan to go another time.’

  ‘All right. But I’ll see you home.’ He got up from the table.

  ‘There’s no need.’ She picked up her bag and gloves. ‘The bus will be along in a few minutes and if I hurry I can just catch it.’

  ‘If you’re sure …’ Murray’s tone was doubtful.

  ‘Perfectly sure.’ She even managed to smile but her eyes felt cold.

  He came round to her side of the table and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Goodbye, Murray.’

  ‘It’s not goodbye. Don’t say goodbye.’

  She was aware of him calling her name, softly, almost as though he didn’t want her to hear him. It was all she could do to hold herself together, the wine she’d drunk too quickly making her stumble across the floor of the restaurant. She had to get out of the door before it was too late and she would break down and sob her heart out.

  Bloody insensitive stupid idiot.

  If he was honest he knew he’d gone too far with her. He should never have kissed her the way he had that evening. Felt her warm soft lips under his. Hugging her to him, stroking her hair, laughing at silly things with her, watching the way her face lit up when she caught sight of him, dancing with her, holding her close, feeling the lines of her slender body … He shook his head in despair. It was all his fault. He’d let her think he was becoming serious. And it was true – he had been. And then the planes that didn’t come back. He’d counted them one by one, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. Two more still to come. He’d almost given up when a lone aeroplane had come limping home. But it was their newest pilot – a young inexperienced one. Yet he’d survived.

  ‘I saw him go down,’ he’d told the waiting pilots, his voice shaking, his eyes wide with shock.

  As soon as Murray had had a chance he’d gone to the men’s and vomited into the pan.

  And then the agony of losing two more of his friends in the space of the next two days, and Shorty’s face, once so damned good-looking, now so badly burned that they told him he’d have to go to a special burns unit in Sussex. This bloody war. No, he couldn’t allow June to fall in love with him and then have something happen to him like it had Shorty. June was such a loyal person. She’d say she would stay with him. Look after him. Ruin her own life. Not get married and have a family. His mind felt as if it was bursting – shooting in all directions like fireworks. Must back off. Not get close. Better to let June carry on thinking they could only be friends. But he hadn’t bargained for how deeply hurt she’d been. She’d looked at him disbelievingly, and tried to say that of course they were friends, that she understood, but he’d heard her voice tremble. He’d hoped she wouldn’t believe him. But she had and he’d had to let her go – let her walk away. She hadn’t turned round. And now he’d lost her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘You’re wanted, June,’ shouted Athena, putting her hand over the receiver as June was hurrying by on her way to the classroom.

  Barbara had been taken poorly with a chest infection and Matron had asked June if she would take the scripture class. All she knew was what she’d learned in her regular attendance at Sunday school, but she reasoned if she could keep at least a couple of lessons ahead of the most informed child, she’d manage somehow.

  June’s heart raced. Who could be calling her? Murray, she thought instinctively. She glanced at her watch. It was already twenty to nine. She wanted to be in class well before the children appeared at nine so she could decide what story she was going to read from the Bible and how she would lead the discussion. Feeling irritated at Matron’s casual way of telling her at the last minute she was to teach twelve boys and three girls religion, she wondered how she’d answer him. She must keep it light.

  A fortnight had gone by since that horrible evening and Murray hadn’t been in touch since. She’d tried to carry on normally but inside she was weeping. Only yesterday Iris had asked her when the wedding was going to be announced. She knew her friend was teasing but she’d rounded on her.

  ‘Please stop talking such nonsense, Iris. There’s never going to be one.’

  June felt a stinging behind her eyes and blinked. She’d been horrible to Iris, who hadn’t deserved it. What was the matter with her? Poor Iris had been mortified when June told her she and Murray were only friends and would never be anything more. That it was what Murray wanted.

  June swallowed.

  ‘Come on, June,’ Athena said impatiently, ‘the pips have gone twice already.’

  June grabbed the receiver. ‘June Lavender here.’ But to her surprise there was no answering name, no smile in the sound of ‘Flight Lieutenant Andrews this end,’ as he usually said. In fact there was a dead silence. June shook the receiver and repeated her name. There was a grunt and a groan. Then cursing. She was just about to put the telephone back on its cradle when a voice said: ‘Is that you, June?’

  The jolt of surprise nearly knocked her off her feet. It was the last person she wanted to speak to. Her stomach crawled with apprehension and loathing. She gripped the receiver.

  ‘I want to speak to my daughter, June Lavender.’ Now the voice was clearer over the telephone line.


  A sick feeling started in the pit of her stomach. Why? Why was he calling? How did he know where she was? She hadn’t left him any address even. Just somewhere near Liverpool. Only one person. Aunt Ada. Oh, how could she?

  ‘It’s June,’ she mumbled, hating to own up that that was indeed who she was.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Her father’s tone softened just a little. ‘How you doing, girl, up north, so far away from all of us?’

  ‘I’m very happy here.’ She’d long made up her mind she would never call him ‘Dad’ again. He had no right to expect it.

  ‘I’ve missed you, girl.’

  June felt a slick of bile at the back of her throat. Dear God, what did he want? Money, she supposed. Well, she’d have to send him some though he’d only go out and spend it on beer.

  ‘What do you want?’ she forced herself to ask. ‘I have to go into class now and teach religion.’

  She would have liked him to think about that, but she knew it would be lost on him.

  ‘My, my. My little girl a teacher.’ He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Well, now, I’m right proud of you.’

  The words trickled off her like a summer shower. In a moment, if he didn’t say what he’d rung her for, she’d put the receiver down on him. She would. He couldn’t do anything to her now. Couldn’t hurt her. She was hundreds of miles away. But his next words caused her to nearly fall to her knees.

  ‘I’ve had a bad accident, girl. Your poor old dad can’t walk. Won’t walk never again. You see, I’m numb from me waist down. I fell off a roof trying to look out for the bleeding Hun. Fighting for king and country, I was. Now I’ll spend the rest of me life in a chair.’ She heard a strange sound she’d never heard him make before. He was crying. Sobbing. There was a loud sniff, and she heard him blow his nose. ‘I need you to come back, June, m’girl. There’s no one else. I need you more than those little wretches. Come back and look after your poor old dad.’

  No. It can’t be. June dropped the receiver in her anguish, and watched it dangle on the end of the grey plaited cord. Dear God, it couldn’t be true. She heard his voice calling out and without hesitating she banged the receiver back on its cradle. Falling into the nearest chair she sank her head in her hands. She couldn’t do it … she couldn’t. She’d be sick looking after that creature. As though her stomach reacted to her thoughts, nausea rushed to her throat. She got up and ran to the cloakroom and put her head over the toilet, retching with the violence of her anger, the perspiration pouring off her forehead. Slowly she rose and turned on the tap and put her mouth under the gush of water, greedily swallowing mouthful after mouthful. She turned off the tap. She daren’t look at herself in the mirror above the basin. She knew she must look a fright.

  Somehow she had to compose herself. She couldn’t explain to anyone what had happened. What she’d been asked to do – to give up her life for someone who didn’t give one iota for her. Someone she hated. Someone she had to acknowledge was her father. She cringed, and more tears trickled down her cheeks. Suddenly she missed Stella. She was the only one who would understand. Stella might be a little selfish at times but she’d had every right to snatch some happiness, especially since she’d lost Nigel in the war. She only hoped Stella’s new man would treat her kindly and, if it was serious, be a good father to those boys.

  Lost in her thoughts she shut the cloakroom door behind her and almost bumped into Iris.

  ‘I wondered where you were, Junie. God, you look awful. Have you been crying? Who was that on the telephone?’

  ‘I’ve just been sick.’ June looked at her friend, her voice dull. Iris was the only one here she’d trust to tell. ‘He’s just made the longest speech I’ve ever heard. He wants me to go back and look after him.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘My father.’

  ‘You’re not going back to that bastard,’ Iris said firmly, ‘and that’s an order.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ June said, her vision so blurry she could hardly see straight. ‘I’ve got to.’

  ‘Why have you got to?’

  ‘Because I’m all he has.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Iris pulled up a chair and took one of June’s hands in her own. ‘He’s a bully and he’s violent. Why should you devote your life to him? Do you think he’d do the same for you?’

  June shook her head. She was trembling with the force of her anger at him placing her in such a position.

  ‘What about Stella? And your aunt. Ada, isn’t it? Is she his sister?’

  ‘No. She’s Mum’s. She hates him. Says he’s good for nothing.’

  ‘Sounds like a good description from what you’ve told me.’

  ‘Stella’s got enough to manage with her three boys,’ June said, struggling not to let any envy creep into her voice. She’d never been envious of Stella, but she wished at that moment she could have changed places with her. ‘And she lives in Cambridgeshire so she’s much too far away.’

  ‘Well, you’re even further in Liverpool,’ Iris said reasonably. ‘He can’t expect you to drop everything – the children and your job.’

  ‘He doesn’t see it like that. I don’t have my own children or a husband. So I’m free to look after him.’

  ‘And Murray? You were a bit sharp the other day when I joked about the wedding date, but I also happen to know you’re in love with him.’

  June’s heart contracted so sharply it was as though a clamp had squeezed it.

  ‘Murray and I are friends – that’s all.’ She tried to laugh it off.

  ‘Friends, my foot.’ Iris looked at June sternly. ‘I don’t care what he told you. The two of you are crazy about each other.’ She ignored June’s shake of her head. ‘You’re not going and that’s final.’

  But the following morning June was on the bus to the railway station with a ticket in her pocket for London.

  Everyone at the home had told her not to worry. She’d find someone to care for her father and she’d soon be back to Bingham Hall. But June wasn’t convinced. Her father had once again reached out a long arm and dragged her away from something she loved, something she felt she might even be good at – and she was too much of a coward to tell him to go to the devil.

  She refused to think that she’d also been dragged away from Murray.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After June’s mother died, her father had moved from their old house in Cambridgeshire to London, saying he was going to start afresh. June had had to bite her tongue to stop a bitter reply. The room he’d rented wasn’t that far from Aunt Ada’s house, but she failed to understand why he’d chosen it. Aunt Ada wouldn’t look after the brute, as she called him, in a million years and why should she? He’d been responsible for her sister’s broken heart after Clara died, and that in turn had led to her death.

  It was another tedious journey but thankfully there were no bad hold-ups and by mid-afternoon she was outside the house where her father now lived.

  June put her hand up to the knocker on the front door, wondering how her father could manage in a wheelchair. She’d only been here once before, to tell him she had a job near Liverpool, hoping it would be for good, and at that time he had been on the third floor. ‘Good view up here,’ he’d said. There were no steps up to the front door but it was likely to be difficult, once you were inside what she remembered was a narrow hall, to fit in a wheelchair.

  A woman with too much make-up, and grey hair tied back in a wispy scarf, opened the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is Mr Lavender at home?’

  ‘What would you be wanting with Billy Lavender?’ The woman narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

  ‘He’s my father.’ Oh, how she hated to admit it.

  ‘Your father, eh?’ The woman’s tone softened a fraction. ‘I feel sorry for you, love. Not an easy man, I’d say. He’s up in number 8. Third floor.’ She jerked her head towards the stairs.

  June frowned. It was the same number. How on earth could he
manage? He’d be like a prisoner. She took a deep breath as though to prepare herself, and climbed the three flights of stairs, twisting round and round until she reached the top landing. There was number 8 facing her. She knocked, her heart beating hard in her chest.

  The door opened immediately as if he’d been waiting for this moment. She drew back as the smell of beer hit her nostrils. And then the stink of his unwashed body enveloping her, the pretence of a smile hovering on his too-thick mouth. He moved a walking stick to one side. Where was the wheelchair? Where were the paralysed legs? A bolt of rage swept through her. She should have known. Why had she believed him? She made as though to escape but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her inside.

  ‘There you are, girl. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. It’s a bit untidy, mind, but you’ll soon have it shipshape, I’ll be bound.’

  She thought she would gag. The stench reached right inside her lungs, making her gasp.

  He shut the door behind her and immediately she felt trapped. His huge bulk seemed to take up the whole sitting room, if you could call it that. June’s disbelieving eyes scanned the room. The furniture looked worse than she remembered it. A rag-and-bone man would probably turn it down. Stuffing was protruding from a sofa which tipped down at one side, the front of it well-shredded by what looked like a disobedient cat. What was once a matching armchair had a greasy patch the size of a dinner plate on the upright where her father, or someone, had constantly rested a Brylcreemed head. There was a table with a wad of paper under one of the legs, presumably to balance it, and stacked with newspapers and several stained cups. A rug that hardly covered the worn and cracked green lino beneath, and windows and frames that were filthy. Cobwebs draped in corners and over the curtain rail, and anywhere they could cling. Damp and urine and smoke permeated the atmosphere. Her father had obviously never attempted to do any cleaning at all since he’d lived here and evidently took little notice.

  ‘Cup of tea for you, girl?’

  She’d rather die than accept anything from him. She only had to glimpse through an open door to his kitchen to see what a disgusting mess it was in. It looked as though a week’s worth of dishes was piled on the draining board, and she could see cigarette butts and empty beer bottles thrown in a heap in the corner with some old clothes tossed on the top.